Uncorking a Lie

by Nadine Nettmann

  Copyright Information

  Uncorking a Lie: A Sommelier Mystery © 2017 by Nadine Nettmann.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First e-book edition © 2017

  E-book ISBN: 9780738752006

  Cover design by Kevin R. Brown

  Cover Illustration by Pierre Droal/Deborah Wolfe Ltd.

  Editing by Nicole Nugent

  Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Nettmann, Nadine, author.

  Title: Uncorking a lie / by Nadine Nettmann.

  Description: First edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2017] |

  Series: A sommelier mystery ; 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016047105 (print) | LCCN 2016057262 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780738750620 (softcover) | ISBN 9780738752006

  Subjects: LCSH: Wine—Fiction. | Murder—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3614.E526 U53 2017 (print) | LCC PS3614.E526 (ebook) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016047105

  Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

  Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

  Midnight Ink

  Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

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  www.midnightinkbooks.com

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To sharing a bottle of wine with treasured friends.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest gratitude to all my readers. You make my dreams come true.

  A heartfelt thank you to my wonderful agent, Danielle Burby, for her unwavering support and guidance.

  A huge thank you to my terrific editor, Terri Bischoff, and the entire team at Midnight Ink, especially Nicole Nugent and Katie Mickschl. Thank you to Kevin Brown and Pierre Droal for my beautiful cover.

  My sincere appreciation to my critique group for their advice, support, and camaraderie: Jennifer Bosworth, Brad Gottfred, Gretchen McNeil, and James Matlack Raney.

  A special thanks to the following friends who read various drafts of this manuscript and provided valuable feedback: Melanie Hooyenga, Sara Spock, Laura Konopka, Kelly Garrett, Kelsey Hertig, Irene Phakeovilay, and Solomon Mangolini.

  Thank you to my parents for more things than I could ever list on a page, and thank you to my husband, Matthew, for your constant support, love, and encouragement.

  chapter pairing suggestions

  One: Crémant de Loire—Loire Valley, France

  Two: Brachetto d’Acqui—Piedmont, Italy

  Three: Burgundy—Côte d’Or, France

  Four: Torrontés—Salta, Argentina

  Five: Vinho Verde—Minho, Portugal

  Six: Lambrusco—Emilia-Romagna, Italy

  Seven: Primitivo—Puglia, Italy

  Eight: Muscadet—Loire Valley, France

  Nine: Spätburgunder—Ahr, Germany

  Ten: Châteauneuf-du-Pape—Châteauneuf-du-Pape, France

  Eleven: Mâconnais—Burgundy, France

  Twelve: Prosecco—Veneto, Italy

  Thirteen: Pinot Gris—Willamette Valley, Oregon

  Fourteen: Nero d’Avola—Sicily, Italy

  Fifteen: Blanc de Blancs Champagne—Reims, France

  Sixteen: Cabernet Franc—Sierra Foothills, California

  Seventeen: Malbec/Cabernet Sauvignon Blend—Mendoza,

  Argentina

  Eighteen: Cariñena—Aragon, Spain

  Nineteen: Gavi—Piedmont, Italy

  Twenty: Touriga Nacional—Alto Douro, Portugal

  Twenty-One: Valpolicella Superiore—Veneto, Italy

  Twenty-Two: Pinot Blanc—Alsace, France

  Twenty-Three: Cabernet Sauvignon Blend—Colchagua Valley,

  Chile

  Twenty-Four: Côtes du Rhône—Rhône Valley, France

  Twenty-Five: Brunello di Montalcino—Montalcino, Italy

  Twenty-Six: Syrah—Yakima, Washington

  Twenty-Seven: Beaujolais—Saint-Amour, France

  Twenty-Eight: Riesling—Columbia Valley, Washington

  Twenty-Nine: Pinotage—Stellenbosch, South Africa

  Thirty: Monastrell—Jumilla, Spain

  Thirty-One: Assyrtiko—Santorini, Greece

  Thirty-Two: Sauvignon Blanc—Marlborough, New Zealand

  Thirty-Three: Riesling—Clare Valley, Australia

  Thirty-Four: White Port—Douro Valley, Portugal

  Thirty-Five: Icewine—Ontario, Canada

  Thirty-Six: Vin Santo—Tuscany, Italy

  one

  Pairing Suggestion:

  crémant de loire—loire valley, france

  A sparkling wine made primarily from the Chenin Blanc grape,

  ideal for beginnings.

  -

  When bottles of wine are sold for large amounts of money, they end up in the news. Sometimes it’s because the bottle was rare and other times the final price was noteworthy or even extreme. Yet the seller is never really emphasized in the articles. It’s always the buyer.

  The buyer, who paid thousands and thousands of dollars for a bottle of wine, often with the notion to safely tuck it away in a cellar where it might not be moved again. I understood saving special bottles for long periods of time, but to know that a wine would never be released from the bottle, never get to live out its purpose of being enjoyed and savored, always gave me a tinge of sadness.

  This time I knew the buyer well. Paul Rafferty was a longtime customer of Trentino and although he had an extensive collection of unique bottles kept safely in his wine cellar, he was also known for occasionally opening rare wines, sometimes at the restaurant where I had the honor of uncorking the bottle and releasing the story.

  Long before Paul’s assistant, Cooper Maxwell, made a special trip to the restaurant with the dinner invitation, I knew that Paul had recently purchased a 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu because I had seen the announcement in the newspaper. Most people, if not everyone, in the wine world had heard about it.

  A frequenter of auctions and a known wine enthusiast, this mention in the San Francisco Tribune wasn’t the first time Paul’s name had been in the news regarding a bottle of wine. A few years ago at an auction in New York, he had paid
$5,000 for a 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild and the previous spring at an auction in London, Paul acquired a bottle of 1919 Château d’Yquem for $4,500.

  But his recent purchase at a Sonoma County auction garnered a large sum after a bidding war erupted and Paul kept going until he was the victor, turning over $19,000 for a 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu valued at half that price. Paul made it clear during the bidding that he wasn’t going to stop until he had the bottle. And now he did.

  When Cooper said it was “a special dinner at Paul’s Sonoma house with a special bottle of wine,” followed by a wink, I knew Paul was going to open the Chateau Clair Bleu. We had talked briefly about the winery, located in the Côte d’Or region of Burgundy, France, during Paul’s visits to Trentino and while he once asked if we had a 1975, it wasn’t brought up again. I was well versed on Chateau Clair Bleu, but the 1975 vintage was not its best known or even close to its best year.

  Although I always loved to know about each bottle of wine, the history of the winery, the weather that affected the grapes that year, the trials and tribulations of the winemaker, this time I wanted to know Paul’s story in regards to this wine. There was a reason he paid double what the bottle was worth, and I was eager to hear why.

  The sun was nearly down in the January sky as I drove through Sonoma County, a wine region located north of San Francisco and west of Napa Valley. Home to over 400 wineries, the diverse topography of Sonoma County includes coastline, hills, and redwood forests.

  The vineyards were bare this time of year, the rows ghost-like until the grape leaves sprouted again in the spring. Even though it was missing the organized greenness that thrilled my heart when I drove through wine regions the rest of the year, there was still the promise of future bottles of wine. Even during the winter, the magic was happening on the vines, we just couldn’t see it.

  While there are many regions of Sonoma County, each one creating a variety of wines, my journey tonight took me through the historic Sonoma Valley. With wineries that date back to the California Gold Rush, Sonoma Valley is located between the Sonoma Mountains and the Mayacamas Range where the cool air rushes in from the Pacific Ocean.

  It was also the area where Paul Rafferty had his house. Or at least one of them. He also had a residence in San Francisco, which is why he dined at Trentino. I wasn’t sure how often he was in Sonoma, but it was where he wanted to open the bottle. Although it meant a night of skipping work—I had been taking on as many sommelier and waiter shifts as I could in order to pay my bills, which had spiked recently due to my travels for the Certified Exam—I wasn’t about to turn down the opening of Paul’s 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu.

  Two last turns and I arrived at the address Cooper had given me. There it was, a palatial house on top of a small hill. Paul had alluded to his wealth, but we never talked about it directly. His dinner discussions were kept to food, travel, and of course wine. He was fascinated by it and wanted to hear the details of every bottle I opened, even if he’d ordered that particular one numerous times before. Sometimes he dined alone, sometimes he dined with Cooper, and sometimes he brought a guest whom he would refer to as “his special lady friend,” though the women varied.

  I pushed the button on the silver box set into the slate wall at the gate.

  “Rafferty Residence,” said a voice too quickly for me to distinguish who it was.

  “Hi, this is Katie Stillwell.”

  “Ah, a name I know so well,” Cooper’s voice came through the speaker. “Some might say you’re the coolest sommelier around. Do you agree?”

  I laughed. “If you say so.”

  “Because you’re here, does this mean you’ve finally allowed me to whisk you off your feet and take you to faraway exotic lands?”

  “If I say no, do I still get to come in?”

  The gate buzzed and opened. I pulled inside and parked, my damaged Jeep out of place next to the Lexus and Mercedes in the driveway. The driver’s side was dented and scraped from an accident in the fall. I would get it fixed eventually, but I needed the money first and since the car was functional, it would have to wait. The dents gave it character. Maybe damage gives all of us a little character. Like the grapes in Sauternes with Noble Rot, a fungus that drains the water out of the grapes. Instead of destroying them, it produces a very sweet and highly prized wine. Damage could be a good thing.

  The doorbell’s chimes echoed throughout the house, like a warning with an attempt to keep it melodious. I waited as the bells continued, knowing that I could never have a doorbell like that. Life always sounding like an alarm.

  This was the first time in my four years at the restaurant that a guest had extended an outside invitation and even though I wasn’t working this evening, my Certified Sommelier pin still adorned the lapel of my blazer. I decided long before I earned the pin, awarded by the Court of Master Sommeliers after passing the rigorous exam, that I would wear it to every wine-related occasion, inside and outside of work.

  The door opened and there was Cooper, his brown hair neatly trimmed. He was only a few years older than me, somewhere in his mid-thirties, and he wore a beige suit and a large smile.

  “There she is, the girl of my dreams.” We were not strangers by any means, as I had met him a few times when he had accompanied Paul to the restaurant, but we didn’t know each other that well and I still couldn’t get a good read on him beyond the flattery.

  “Cooper, I’m sure you tell that to everyone.”

  “I don’t, actually. But do you want me to stop praising you?” He raised one eyebrow. “Because I will if you really want me to.”

  “No.” I smiled. “Keep the praise coming. You’re fun.”

  “Ah, that’s what I want all the girls to tell me. That I’m fun.” He grinned. His personality was always friendly, open, and slightly flirtatious. Perhaps he was a Viognier, a floral white wine that could be dry or sweet.

  “But in all seriousness, Katie, I’m glad you’ve come tonight. This dinner will be so much better with you here.” He hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

  That was new. I didn’t think we had ever hugged before. In fact, I was sure of it. We had only interacted at Trentino. And the kiss, well, that was a definite first. I paused, not stepping inside the house. I was not in the market for a boyfriend. My focus was on my Advanced Exam, the next step with the Court of Master Sommeliers. I had tiptoed around it with my last romantic interest, a Napa sheriff detective named Dean, but I needed to be upfront now. I needed fewer complications all around.

  “Cooper,” I said as I touched my cheek where he had kissed, “I don’t—”

  “Just a greeting, Miss Stillwell.” He winked. “In case you were going to allude to what I think you were going to.”

  Maybe he knew me better than I thought. “Are you greeting every guest tonight that way?”

  “Only the ones I like.” He smiled. “As a friend, of course. However, it’s nice to see you outside of the restaurant. Why aren’t we getting together more often? We should.” He straightened his posture, standing just slightly taller than me. “Now I’m under strict instructions to tell you that you are not to work tonight in any capacity.”

  “But what about the wine? I’m happy to help, especially with the specific bottle Paul wants to open.”

  “Nope. I’m serving tonight.” Cooper pulled a wine opener out of his pocket and held it up. It was expensive, double hinged with polished wood. I had seen them in the stores for around $150. “As soon as I can figure out how to work this thing.”

  I reached for the wine opener I kept in my purse at all times, but Cooper stopped me.

  “I’m kidding. You’re not the only one who opens wine bottles on a regular basis, Katie. I’d like to say I’m Paul’s personal sommelier, but I know that if I asked him, he would say it was you. But you’re a guest tonight, understand? A friend in Paul’s house, just like the other guests. No different.
So relax and enjoy yourself. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I replied. It would be nice to be served, but I needed to make a conscious effort to not help with the wine, especially around Paul. A step outside of my comfort zone, for sure. I touched my Certified pin and thought about taking it off, but decided to leave it on for the time being.

  Cooper guided me through the marble hallway as the sound of my boots echoed around us. The boots, which lifted me up an inch, were comfier than heels and mostly hidden under the pants of my fitted black suit. Even though I was an invited guest, I had worn a suit just in case I was given sommelier duties. I felt most comfortable in pants instead of skirts when working the restaurant floor, a force of habit that extended outside the restaurant.

  “There are a few guests already here having aperitifs in the lounge. When everyone arrives, we’ll start the dinner. By the way, I have a small gift I want to give you later.”

  “A gift? What?”

  “Later.” He smiled.

  We entered the lounge, a rectangular room with white couches and floor-to-ceiling windows. A man and woman were sitting next to each other on the couch while a second man occupied a nearby chair. Their conversation stopped and they all focused on me.

  “This is Katie Stillwell,” said Cooper. “We have Henry Diven.” He motioned to the man in the chair. “Leanor Langley and Simon Watkins.” He nodded at the couple on the couch.

  The three guests barely shifted, each watching me like a hawk studying its prey. I was clearly the outsider in this group and not just because I was the youngest by at least a decade. My anxiety level started to rise, beginning as it always did with a sudden tightening in my chest, restricting my breath.

  I approached strangers at tables every night, all night long, at Trentino, but I belonged there and the guests were happy to see me. This was definitely not Trentino.

  I turned to Cooper, eager to divert the attention away from me or at least get a break from the stares.

  “What can I get you to drink?” he asked before I could say anything else.

  It was time to warm up the room. I put on my game face, the stoic and unreadable mask I wore when encountering uncomfortable or awkward situations. It was a professional and polite demeanor that hid any and all feelings. “What is everyone else drinking?” I said to Cooper as much to the other guests in the room.